Reflections and Letters
by Bluejeans1481
Summary: A one-shot set in the summer between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix. Hermione looks at her reflection, and more importantly, reflects on herself.


Hermione Granger examined her reflection in the mirror critically. She grimaced widely, running her tongue over her teeth and inspecting them. Her mother had nearly had a fit when Hermione returned after her fourth year, her normally bucktoothed grin having been conveniently altered by Madame Pomfrey.  
  
"Hermione! What did you do to your mouth?" her mother had moaned.  
  
"Sweetheart, we're _dentists_," her father had grumbled, "You know we don't want you mucking about your mouth with magic."  
  
"Where's my little chipmunk?" her mother had asked, sadly.  
  
"Gone," Hermione thought to herself firmly, as she continued to peruse her face in the mirror. Unfortunately, that was about all that had improved, she was forced to admit. Her hair was still as unruly and bushy as ever – she was certainly not going to waste time fussing with it like she had for the Yule Ball...and her face remained as plain and simple as ever. Nothing outrageously out of place, or disproportionate, but nothing particularly remarkable about it either. The girl next door. Invisible.  
  
Hermione sighed, and flopped across her neatly-made bed, pulling herself up with her elbows. There were far more important things to worry about anyway. She was not about to start spending hours in front of the mirror, or reading Witch Weekly compulsively. Hermione saw them, even if Harry didn't – the girls that lurked "coincidentally" in the corridors between their classes, whispering behind their hands...or following a few feet back, just to sigh at the back of his head.  
  
If being a girl meant leaving off studying to paint up her face, or fawn over a magazine...If it meant sitting there at the Great Hall and turning down perfectly good food, or yanking her hair straight for an hour each day...if it meant dumbing herself down to seem less threatening, or essentially, taking all of her self-respect, gift-wrapping it, and handing it to some boy, well, count Hermione Granger out.  
  
Hermione had always prized her intellect above all other graces, followed shortly by self-control. And now that Lord Voldemort had returned to power, to spend time moping about what you have, or don't have, or comparing yourself to certain French, blonde tarts seemed a waste of time indeed.  
  
What Hermione couldn't admit to herself, is that's she'd gotten so accustomed to prizing intellect above all her other qualities, she'd forgotten she had any other qualities. In fact, when Ron had finally realized that she was, in fact, "a girl," she'd been nearly as shocked as he was. She'd been spending so much time with Ron and Harry, that ironically, she'd nearly forgotten herself. She'd never gotten along with Parvati or Lavender...Ginny was really her only female friend at Hogwarts, and even that was more of an acquaintanceship. For years, she'd been "one of the boys," or at least some kind of androgynous go-between.  
  
She briefly flipped through the stack of mail that had arrived, and smiled to herself. A letter from Harry.  
  
"_Dear Hermione,  
  
What on earth is going on? Why won't you write to me? I haven't heard from Ron either.  
  
Privet Drive is pretty much the same. I can't decide whether it's worse, or whether I'd just forgotten how bad it is. I'm really going mad here, Hermione, I haven't heard anything about Voldemort, and I can't even get anything out of the Muggle news.  
  
Write something!  
  
Love,  
Harry"_  
  
Hermione sighed guiltily. She'd had express orders from Dumbledore NOT to tell Harry anything that might be going on with the Order, or with Lord Voldemort. He seemed to think it was best for Harry's safety that he remain as isolated as possible at Privet Drive, and more importantly, there was always the concern that the owl might be intercepted. But the fact that it was the logical thing to do didn't make it easier for any of them, especially Harry. She made a mental note to send him a carefully worded owl as soon as she'd finished reading her mail.  
  
The second letter was from Ron. Hermione snorted mentally.  
  
She knew by now that he had some sort of feelings for her – the Yule Ball had made that obvious. But he still couldn't even admit them to himself, let alone tell her how he felt. And she wasn't about to spell it out for him. No, as far as relationships went, Ronald Weasley was not the smart choice. Definitely, a be-freckled, red-haired, awkwardly handsome, tall...bad choice.  
  
"Ah," she said, smiling as she tossed Ron's unopened letter briskly to the side, and picked up the third. The address read, "Hermonine Granger," and the envelope had a maroon Quaffle in the top left corner, with a stylized Snitch darting past it – Bulgarian Quidditch Team stationary.  
  
"Hmmph," she muttered aloud, raising a wry eyebrow, "'Hermonine,' is it?"   
  
While a vast improvement from "Hermoninny," Hermione was still annoyed that Viktor couldn't master her name, particularly after they'd been corresponding on and off all summer. On the other hand, she was hardly surprised – people did insist on pronouncing it wrong. She smiled to herself, as she began to read Viktor's letter, almost hearing his thick accent in her head:  
  
_"My dearest Hermonine,  
  
I haff been thinking of you all veek long. Vy do you not come to Bulgaria, ven I ask you to? You say you are busy, but I vonder if you miss me, Hermonine, as I haff missed you.   
  
I hope your studying goes well. As for me, I am enjoying Quidditch practice. It is not so much fun, ven you are not here. I am make fun of on the team, because of how I always am writing a new letter to you.  
  
I am reading Hogwarts: A History, as you haff recommended me to. Vat do you read?"  
_  
Hermione interrupted the letter to glance at the stack of books next to her bed – the required reading for sixth year, plus several prep-and-review books for the NEWTS (you could never start too early...plus, it would definitely help her with her upcoming OWLS), plus a book about bloodlines in werewolves and vampires that she was doing some background research in.  
  
"_I know you are reading very much. I like to remember you studying at the library. Your face is very beautiful ven you are concentrating at the window. I am sad, though, that you are so far avay. I vant to show you my beautiful country, and introduce you to my family. Please say you vill come to Bulgaria before you go to school.  
  
I vait for your letter, and think of your beautiful face, hiding in a book.  
  
Love,  
Viktor"_  
  
Hermione sighed, and put the letter down, covered in Viktor's tiny, irregular scrawl. Viktor was the smart choice. Despite his perpetual frown, he was quite romantic at heart – he'd been courteous to her during their entire stay at Hogwarts...He was a passable dancer, held her chair for her, took long walks with her, and enjoyed discussing the books they'd read, and practicing his English. On the other hand, he could be a bit surly, or petulant – especially when he didn't get his way.  
  
"Hermoninny," he'd asked, utterly serious, "May I haff a kiss?"  
  
The racket from the Yule Ball had spilled out into the garden area, where the silvery moonlight highlighted Viktor's strong features with bluish shadows. Hermione felt a sudden surge of panic. She'd been a bit suspicious when he'd asked to take her for a walk...after all, Viktor hadn't exactly made his feelings for her a secret...and "taking a walk" at a function like this, well...It _had_ been a perfectly lovely evening...  
  
And why not? Why shouldn't she just be a girl for once? Why couldn't she just relax and kiss Viktor and have fun, and hang Ron Weasley.  
  
"Err..." she'd muttered, stalling for time.  
  
But Viktor was already moving closer, his lashes dark, his hand strong, a bit too strong on her arm. At the last moment, she turned her head slightly, so that they ended up kissing each other on the cheek, sort just to the right of their mouths.  
  
Viktor looked at her, his brow furrowed into a bewildered scowl. Hermione couldn't help but laugh.  
  
"You are laffing at me," Viktor said, his scowl darkening even more. Hermione noticed he still hadn't released her forearm.  
  
"No, Viktor," she'd said softly, "I'm just...I don't want to spoil it. Dance with me?"  
  
Viktor's scowl loosened slightly, and he put one strong hand around her waist, took her hand in the other, and began to guide her lightly about the courtyard, in his own charming, duck-footed way. He tried again to steal a kiss when the song was over, and this time she permitted it. But he was a bit too insistent, clearly trying to prise her mouth open with his. Hermione was aware that there was nothing specifically wrong with her appearance – she'd been very careful getting prepared for the Ball that night. But she'd never before seen herself as an object of desire. The very idea seemed ridiculous and exciting and terrible at the same time. Was that his tongue?

She broke away, overwhelmed, unprepared. Viktor stared into her eyes, and bit his lip unconsciously, his hand still closed rather too firmly on her upper arm. Hermione had kissed a boy before, of course – although perhaps being five years old, it didn't really count. But she'd never felt anything like this. Viktor's strong grip, his insistence reminded her how very weak she was compared to him, yet at the same time, she felt a heady rush of power at the hungry, predatory look in his eyes. A second later, she felt terrified. It was too much, too soon.

She politely suggested that they get back to the Ball.

Hermione sighed aloud. Viktor was the smart choice, yes. But he was asking for more than she could give. She certainly wasn't about to go flitting off to Bulgaria and "meet the family," not when Harry needed her, not when Voldemort was just coming back to...  
  
"But what if Harry didn't need you?" she asked herself, "And forget about Voldemort for a minute."  
  
"The whole thing is ridiculous," Hermione said aloud, and neatly folded Viktor's letter, putting it back in the envelope.  
  
Why should she have to make any kind of "choice" at all? Everyone dashed about Hogwarts trying to pair up like it was Noah's Ark. Who says anyone is supposed to have a boyfriend at this age? Who even wants one, with all the studying that has to be done!  
  
"And especially now that Harry needs me, and Voldemort is—" started up the old refrain.  
  
But Hermione couldn't shake a slight, anxious feeling of guilt. She knew why she wasn't going to Bulgaria. The truth was, she'd been putting off writing back to Viktor for about two weeks now. He had been her first "real" kiss. And rather than make her happy, she was surprised to find the thought actually made her a little bit wistful.

However "smart" a choice he was, he just wasn't what she wanted...She wasn't in love with Viktor, and never would be. How long was she going to keep putting off her own life? How long was she going to bury herself in her studies, and Harry, and the fight against Voldemort?  
  
How long was she going to let that stubborn red-head dance around the issue before she wrote him off?  
  
The letter he'd written her lay unopened and face down on her bed. With a sigh, Hermione reached over, and brought it in front of her. It was simply addressed, "Mione," in sloppy print. She rolled her eyes, and opened up the letter.  
  
"_Mione,  
  
Hey! Listen, we're going to Snuffles' place, because Harry's getting picked up by..."_  
  
Here a bunch of words were studiously blacked out by a Magick Marker. Hermione rolled her eyes yet again.  
  
"_...by a bunch of people, you know when. Should we pick you up? Or do you want to meet there?  
  
-Ron  
  
(PS – what'd you get him for his birthday? I can't think of anything good.)"_  
  
Hermione sighed irritatedly, and folded up the letter. Leave it to Ron Weasley – no "Dear Hermione." Not even, "Love, Ron," or "Yours truly, Ron," or at the very least, "Your friend, Ron." Not even a simple "How are you doing?" He hadn't even really asked if she was coming – just, "When should I pick you up?" Even Harry, who had been raised by just about the rudest people Hermione had ever heard of, knew how to write a proper letter.  
  
She softened a bit, though, at Ron's postscript – however inept he was at expressing himself, she knew why he'd been having trouble thinking of a birthday present for Harry. She'd had the same problem herself.  
  
She knew that Cedric's death and Voldemort's horrific return to power had scarred Harry far more deeply than the lightening-bolt on his forehead. Every time she'd thought of a gift for him, it seemed insignificant...almost insensitive. Like it would be rude to offer Harry something pleasant, or fun when clearly, his mind was elsewhere.  
  
She grabbed her quill from its place on her nightstand, flipped Ron's letter over, and began to write on the back.  
  
"_**Dear** Ron,"_ she wrote stubbornly, "_I'll manage myself, but thanks anyway. Looking forward to seeing everyone in a few days. Say hello to Ginny for me, and if you happen to talk to Snuffles, thank him for inviting me."_  
  
She thought about this for a moment. It was good – it made it sound as though whoever Snuffles was, they were just going there for a casual visit. She toyed briefly with adding a bit more.  
  
"_Have you finished your summer reading yet?"_ she wrote, and instinctively reached for her wand to erase it. Ron never did any summer reading. Besides, he'd probably just think she was nagging him. She reflected, a bit defensively, that he _needed_ nagging at times, but let it drop. She'd almost cast the spell before she remembered she wasn't allowed to do magic at home.

She realized with an odd feeling that she'd only been at Hogwarts for four complete years, but in that short time, magic had become so integrated into her life that reaching for her wand came more naturally than reaching for her eraser. What had once seemed impossible and foreign was now second nature. She took out a fresh sheet of parchment from her nightstand drawer, and rewrote her letter to the point where she had left off.

"_About Harry..."_ she started to write, then stopped herself. She honestly couldn't think of anything to say, at least not that Ron would feel comfortable talking about.  
  
"_I had a hard time shopping for him too, this year,"_ she wrote, "_He's quite mad at us...I'm really starting to—"_  
  
She sighed, and crumpled up the parchment. It was pointless – There was no reason for her to point out that Harry was upset. Even Ron couldn't be so daft as to miss that. And both of them were worried about Harry, obviously.  
  
She lay on her stomach with another fresh sheet of parchment, chewing on the end of her quill thoughtfully, and was suddenly seized by an aching feeling – she really hadn't seen either of them in so long.  
  
"_I've been missing you,"_ she wrote, and immediately discarded it. She began to recopy the letter yet again, and paused after she'd reached the part about thanking "Snuffles," deciding what else, if anything, to add. She glanced over at the mirror in the corner of her room, and sighed at her straggly, bushy hair, her plain, boring face, and her stocky frame, remembering Ron ogling Fleur like a slack-jawed...

"_See you soon, Love, Hermione,"_ she concluded, and folded it up. She wrote "Ron" on the outside, and resolved to send it that night, as soon as she'd finished letters to Harry and Viktor – no sense in tying up the owl for just one letter. She smirked as she imagined Ron finding her letter to Viktor tied to Ajax's leg...  
  
But she sighed, and realized it wouldn't be fair to send Ajax to Ron's house, Harry's, and then all the way to Bulgaria. She'd have to send it via regular owl post.  
  
"What does he see in Fleur, anyway?" she thought, and the same lonely ache visited her chest. She knew exactly what he saw in Fleur – everything she wasn't.   
  
She quickly pushed it away however, reaching for her heavy copy of "Acing the NEWTS: Toppling Transfiguration!" She had studying to do, and it didn't matter anyway, as she'd be seeing both of them in just a few days.  
  
Before she returned to her studies, though, she allowed herself to remember Ron's face when he'd spotted her at the Yule Ball...he'd been pretty slack-jawed then, come to think of it...She smiled, remembering those awful maroon dress robes, frayed at the cuffs, and much too short for him...   
  
She thought back to that first day in Hogsmeade that they'd spent together...it was the first time they'd ever really spent time together without Harry.  
  
"Mione! Look!"  
  
Ron was pointing out everything to her as though her eyes were voice-activated – this time it was the sunny, yellow exterior of Honeydukes. They could see row upon row of brightly colored sweets in their cellophane wrappers decking the walls of the cozy little shop.   
  
Ron's freckled cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold, and his breath hung in the air for a moment. His blue eyes were sparkling joyfully.  
  
"Well come on," he'd said gleefully, and grabbed her by the hand as though it were the most obvious thing in the world to do, dashing off to the sweet shop with a breathless Hermione in tow.  
  
Smiling to herself, Hermione opened a book, and once again, hid her beautiful face behind it.


End file.
